


Rings a Bell

by venilia



Category: Leverage
Genre: (kinda), F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Temporary Amnesia, light stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venilia/pseuds/venilia
Summary: Eliot wakes up in the hospital missing a lot of his memories. He's pleased to discover that apparently he has a husband, and a Parker.Meanwhile, Parker has feelings, and knows she's weird, and Hardison might be a fish, a bird, or a turtle.





	Rings a Bell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenlystrange](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=serenlystrange).



> General anesthesia can cause memory loss for up to several days, according to [Science Daily](https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2014/11/141103192130.htm)
> 
> Oregon passed same-sex marriage on May 19th of 2013, just days before this fic takes place.

Eliot wakes up. His eyes are still closed, but it smells distinctly like hospital. Beeping of a heart monitor. There’s somebody on his right side. His mouth is dry. There’s a cannula in his nose. 

 

Okay. 

 

He’s got no memory why he’s here, what’s happened, who’s next to him. He hopes he’s not in danger, because his body feels distant, and his mind is full of fog. There was... wasn’t there something he had to take care of? 

 

When he cracks his eyes open, the person to his right is a young black man. Handsome. Tapping at a phone with one hand, the other resting on Eliot’s bedding. 

 

Huh. 

 

The man looks up, and relief washes over his face. He’s got a very expressive face. 

 

“Eliot,” he says. “Oh God, man, thought you were never gonna wake up. Been sitting here for hours.” 

 

Eliot tries to think of something to say. His mouth is  _ very  _ dry. He sits up a little, which makes the gorgeous guy freak out and make a fuss about helping him. He adjusts the bed until Eliot is propped up a little, feeling like a beached sea creature and aching all over. 

 

“Get yourself stabbed and then try to just sit up,” the man complains. “I’m Eliot Spencer, I think I’m the goddamn Wolverine. Man, you just got out of surgery three hours ago. Can you even give it a few minutes before worrying me? No consideration.” He jabs the button for the nurse.

 

“Surgery?” Eliot latches on. He looks down at his body. There’s a girdle of bandages around his middle, holding a square white patch to his upper right abdomen. He tries to peel it down to see what’s going on there, but his fingers are dull, and the man slaps his hands away with an aggrieved sound.    
  


“Yes, surgery. Because you got yourself  _ stabbed _ . With a  _ knife _ . You’d think you’d remember all the blood loss and the screaming. General chaos. And did I mention the blood loss? Because it is seared into my memory, I can tell you.” 

 

Eliot considers. “I screamed?”

 

The man snorts. “No, I screamed, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Scared me half to death. Took me three minutes to reach you, you know that? And,” he says, sounding more serious, “you scared Parker. Don’t  _ do  _ that.” 

 

Who’s Parker? It seems important that he scared her (him?). Eliot wishes his head was clearer. 

 

He must look confused, or frustrated. He’s both. 

 

The man lays a hand on his shoulder. He has two rings, but no other jewelry. He says, “She’s around, don’t worry. We’re all good.” 

 

Which is comforting in some silly way. He’s got people. They’re safe. They love him. It’s all over the man’s face, the way his jaw is tense, and his eyes are soft. It’s in the way his hand rests on Eliot’s arm, how he can’t seem to stop touching him, little reassuring touches. Eliot can read bodies, and this man’s body says  _ love  _ loud and clear. 

 

“‘kay,” Eliot manages. The nurse comes in. She’s a short old woman with black hair starting to go silver and a star-of-David necklace under her Sesame Street scrubs.  She takes one look at him, and gets the Don’t Try Me, Sonny look Eliot has been getting from medical professionals since bootcamp. Her name tag says Edith.  

 

“I see you’re awake,” she says. She produces a blood pressure cuff and pulse monitor and applies both while the handsome man hovers. Edith has to reach around him to fasten the blood pressure cuff. Eliot’s man keeps one hand on his shoulder, while the other continues fiddling with his phone. 

 

Eliot wonders if they have fights over his obsession with his phone or if it’s a nervous gesture in a time of stress. He could be texting this Parker person. Maybe other people too. A sister-in-law or an uncle. 

 

“He could probably use some ice chips,” Edith notes pointedly. “Down the hall, past the nurses’ station, on the left.” 

 

The man starts. “Ah, sorry man. You must be so thirsty.” Eliot’s man hops to.

 

“Husbands.” Edith shakes her head in amusement.  “I tell you, they come in two types: the ones that are useless and the ones that get under foot.” She holds up a finger in front of Eliot’s face. “Follow my finger,” she directs. She runs him through the usual checks, glancing again and again at the chart in her hands. 

 

Husband. Eliot isn’t surprised. Also there’s the ring. Eliot’s not wearing one, but he did just have surgery. Maybe his husband has his ring safe in a little box on the dresser in their home. Eliot likes that idea,  _ home _ .

 

“Don’t remember coming here,” Eliot says carefully, voice hoarse, testing the waters. Everything  _ seems  _ fine, but he still feels on edge, wary. Especially with his man gone. 

 

Nurse Edith huffs a dry laugh. “I don’t doubt it. You lost a lot of blood. You suffered a grade IV liver laceration, and two of your ribs were chipped.” She pauses a moment, rechecking the chart yet again. 

 

Eliot absently tracks the noises in the hall outside and can’t help tensing when he hears a new set of footsteps. Two people, one with a heavy tread, one clipping in medium heels. Two people appear in the doorway. The man has messy curls in a way that is not even a little bit artful. His eyes are tired, but his body is jumpy, uncomfortable. 

 

The woman says, “Edward!” in an accent like Eliot’s own, and rushes forward to clasp Eliot’s hand. She has high cheekbones, very nice legs, and is dressed in that flowing rich look typical of therapists and WASPs. 

 

Eliot has a split second to decide, but really the decision is already made. He doesn’t like sharing secrets. 

 

“I’m fine,” he rasps, and doesn’t correct her about the name. He doesn’t look at Nurse Edith. 

 

He doesn’t remember having a sister. 

 

“Good  _ gracious _ , we’ve all been so  _ worried _ ,” his maybe-sister says, taking the vacated chair at his bedside. “Nate, would you just look at him. Pale as the sheets.” She presses the back of her hand to his temple as if checking for a fever. It feels nice. 

 

The man, Nate, still looking like he’s struggling with his fight or flight instincts. Bad story about hospitals, maybe. He doesn’t look hostile towards anyone but the retreating back of Nurse Edith. He drifts towards the windows but stops to scrutinize Eliot. 

 

“He did just get out of surgery,” Nate says. At the woman’s stink-eye Nate adds, “Yeah, Eliot. You... had us all worried, there. Maybe try not to get stabbed next time.” He’s sarcastic but sincere. He reminds Eliot of General... General someone. He can picture him in his mind. Graying, with a stubborn jaw. What was his name?

 

It’s like trying to catch a handful of cigarette smoke. Specifics fly away from him. It’s the goddamn drugs, he knows. They always fuck him up. 

 

“There, now,” his sister says. “Everything is all taken care of, alright?” she says. Her accent is perfect, the words are perfect... and still it rings in Eliot’s ear as off, somehow.

 

“I saw Hardison in the halls,” she says. “He’s already arranged for a home nurse and regular check-ins. We can take you home first thing in the morning.” She makes a little sad motherly sound, and pets at his arm “I’m sure Parker will turn up any minute,” she adds. 

 

Eliot still doesn’t know who Parker is, but it relaxes him anyway. 

 

His husband comes back then with a styrofoam cup full of ice chips. He seems to recognize the woman and the man. He shuts the door behind him, and it helps. 

 

“Have you seen Parker, yet?” Hardison asks, then says, “Eliot, man, I couldn’t find a spoon. You want me to use my fingers, or are you okay tipping some into your mouth?” 

 

Eliot finds he wants a spoon. On the other hand, the idea of having this man, who is apparently his husband, put his long fingers against Eliot’s mouth is kind of nice. He realizes he’s staring at the man’s fingers, and grunts, hoping his husband will make the choice for him. 

 

Eliot’s really out of it. The world feels soupy. 

 

“Oh, Hardison,” the sister says, and now her accent is upper class English, and it feels right. “ _ Honestly _ . Is this really the time?” She stands and stamps her foot a little, but it’s done so gracefully that it comes off as a protest rather than a pout. 

 

Eliot still feels sort of brotherly towards her, even though he knows in his bones that he’s a Southern boy. They can’t be related by blood. 

 

Hardison winks as he reclaims the chair. “I don’t have these cameras right now, Sophie” he says. Possibly just to annoy her, he uses his fingers to scoop up a few chips and feed them to Eliot. Eliot has to close his eyes for a moment in gratitude as the ice chips melt and flood his mouth. They’re the little soft bead-shaped chips, the kind he’s always secretly enjoyed crunching between his teeth. 

 

His husband’s fingertips are warm against his lips. 

 

He’s going to pass out again soon, he knows. He doesn’t feel comfortable passing out with these people around: the fight-or-flight man, the not-sister, and the husband he can’t remember. 

 

“Where  _ is  _ Parker?” Sophie asks by way of changing the subject. 

 

There’s a heavy sound in the walls at the head of Eliot’s bed, like something large shuffling. 

 

“Here,” a muffled female voice says.

 

Hardison gapes towards the wall for a split second before recovering. Sophie stills, almost unnoticeably. The only one who isn’t surprised is Nate. And Eliot, he’s not surprised either, though he doesn’t know  _ why _ . 

 

“Woman,” Hardison says, while staring deeply into Eliot’s eyes and placing another ice chip to his lips, “You better not come through that grate until I have a chance to do some serious camera hacking.” 

 

“Okay,” the mysterious Parker says. 

 

“Are you going to stay there all night, Parker?” Sophie asks. Her voice towards Parker is gentle, fond. 

 

“Well  _ somebody  _ has to watch over Eliot,” Parker says. 

 

“I’ve been watching over him just fine,” Hardison says. He doesn’t look put out, though. 

 

“We’re all going to watch over Eliot,” Nate says. He sounds like a parent trying to stop a fight from starting. 

 

“Not me, Nate,” Sophie says. She stretches her neck and shoulders gracefully. “I’m for bed. It’s been a very long day, and in case you didn’t remember I have been up since four for your little scheme. And,” she says, considering, “not you, either. You’re my ride, remember?” 

 

Eliot is fairly sure that was code for come-home-with-me-because-I-want-sex. Nate seems to agree. Before they go, Sophie leans over to kiss Eliot’s cheek softly, and murmurs in his ear, “Get some rest. We’re all safe.” 

 

She murmurs something to Hardison as well and calls a goodnight to Parker up in her airvent before collecting Nate and leaving. Eliot’s eyes are barely open. 

 

When the door closes behind them Hardison says, “Give me a minute,” and leans back with his phone, fingers flying, cup of melting ice chips cradled at his elbow. 

 

Eliot feels sleep rush over him like a wave. 

 

\---

 

Some hours later, a noise wakes Eliot. It’s dark outside the window, though he can still make out his husband slumped over in the chair at his bedside, snuffling a little, face scrunched against the blankets. 

 

That’s not what woke him. There’s a sound like something heavy and metal, and then a black figure slides out of a hole above his head, head first. One leg comes free of the vent and the figure bends so that light blonde hair brushes his face as she uses one of the rails on the side of his bed to hold herself steady, the other hand grasping the metal vent cover. 

 

Eliot watches silently. He’d forgotten Parker was in the air vent. 

 

Parker lets her other foot slide free of the vent just as she executes a one-handed cartwheel in place on the rail, righting herself. She balances easily on one foot while she sets the grate back in place, fixing it there. 

 

Eliot watches her foot admiringly. Parker has Olympic-level skill. He thinks he already knew this. He thinks he admires it often. 

 

When she’s done she crouches down like an exquisitely balanced gremlin on the handrail. “Hi, Eliot!” She blows her bangs out of her face. They’re getting long. He can’t make out much of her face in the dark, but he knows it already. 

 

“Parker,” he grunts, because seeing her makes his heart light up. It’s just because she’s the last crew member to check in, he tells himself. But he knows he’s lying. 

 

His husband is right fucking there, lightly drooling into the scratchy blankets covering Eliot’s thigh. Hardison makes a little noise as he cuddles in closer, and Eliot stills. Parker doesn’t, not guilty in the slightest. 

 

“I know you know this,” she says, “but Sophie says you have to say things anyways sometimes, and you’re really drugged up,” Parker purses her lips and says, “I’m gonna watch over you tonight. You don’t have to worry.” She holds something up, and then the something emits an arc of white electricity, and her grin is wicked.

 

He’s grinning back. He’s on the good drugs. “Okay,” he says. 

 

“Okay,” she agrees. She braces herself against the door, settling in like a soldier on watch. Eliot recognizes it, has done that himself before for... for brothers, he thinks. He can’t remember their names through the fog right now.

 

He falls asleep again. 

 

\---

 

The nurses come in to check vitals every few hours. Parker is always conveniently gone. She wakes Hardison up or something, because he hides in the bathroom. 

 

Morning comes with the indignity of getting a catheter removed by a stranger, and his husband having to spot him in the bathroom when he can finally pee on his own. The drugs make his balance shit. 

 

Turns out Hardison isn’t just chatty when he’s nervous or stressed. He talks  _ all the time _ . Little conversational things that don’t require much participation. Eliot doesn’t understand half the stuff he’s talking about, and not just because the man seems ridiculously invested in pop-culture geek shit. He talks about hacking just... freely. No shame. And Eliot has to admit he likes it, that he married a not-so-legal fucking genius  _ nerd _ . 

 

Apparently his family is also his crew, and they go around doing Robin Hood shit, and Eliot’s job is to protect everyone. 

 

Good news: they’re done with this con, and the kid who needed some kinda medical procedure is going to get it now. 

 

Bad news: Eliot’s out of commission for the next month, “at least, man. Don’t give me that, ‘I can do my job, Hardison,’ bullshit. Nate says you’re grounded until he sees a clean bill of health.”  

 

(Sidenote: apparently sick kids makes it Personal for Nate.)

 

(Further note: according to Hardison, Eliot being hurt makes it Personal for him and Parker. “And Sophie too, of course,” Hardison tacks on like an afterthought.)

 

\---

 

Nate and Sophie show up again when Eliot is discharged against medical advice, because he’s getting home care. He’s relieved. Nate is wearing a hat that makes him look like an asshole. He might actually be an asshole. Eliott doesn't remember enough to say either way, but he's still got his instincts. Sophie fusses over him, still using the accent that is supposed to be Kentucky but hits somewhere around Alabama. Close enough for horseshoes, Eliot figures.

 

“Parker is getting the spare bedroom ready,” Sophie says, one hand fiddling with the collar of his flannel shirt. Hardison had had to get all the buttons for him. His husband had left early to take a shower and pick up Eliot new painkillers before coming back, and so Eliot had been just high enough to enjoy it. 

 

He hates feeling this vulnerable, though. The wheelchair is good, he could use that, but his sense of balance is shot. Right now all he can see is Sophie's impractical high heels, and the whiff of alcohol on Nate's breath. Hardison has muscle, but Elliott can already tell he's not a fighter. He wishes Parker was here.

 

Eliot figures out three things as they load him into a white van apparently called Lucille. It's a gray, damp day, but there’s a row of lilac bushes blooming across the street from the hospital. That means it’s May.

 

The second thing he realizes happens when the discharge nurse stares at Hardison's ass as he locks the wheels of the chair. He thinks he ought to feel jealous, but instead he has a wave of  _ yeah sister, me too _ . He remembers a spat with Aimee once when another guy had been hitting on her. Nice to know he's outgrown being a jealous asshole. 

 

The third thing is the most obvious thing, which is that they are in Portland Oregon. It's a very distinctive vibe.

 

The drive doesn't take very long. Nate parks around back of a brew pub, from the smell of it. Eliot can smell his momma’s chili recipe in the air. He’s startled to his bones. He owns a brew pub. With his husband. And he’s still in the game, as well, and he has a team. 

 

It’s nothing Eliot could have even hoped for. 

 

“Home sweet home,” Nate says. 

 

“I’ll go get Parker,” Sophie volunteers, leaving Nate and Hardison to maneuver Eliot.

It hurts to walk, core muscles straining and bunching oddly as he overcompensates with the muscles on his other side. Parker meets them inside, sliding her shoulder under Eliot’s to brace him. She’s almost the same height and stronger than she looks. He gets the feeling they do this a lot. 

 

“Hey, Eliot,” Parker says, voice straining a little as she takes his weight. “Sophie says you’re not allowed to move around, and that we have to watch your stitches. Did they staple you?” He grunts in reply. Parker seems like the sort of person who would want to see his stitches first hand, but right now all Eliot wants is to sit down somewhere. 

 

Parker makes a face and grunts back. “We could just lift you up to the apartment if you weren’t so  _ weird  _ about it,” she says, like this is a long-standing argument. 

 

Eliot glances up. He takes one look at the pulley system attached to the ceiling and decides he absolutely agrees with his non-amnesia-ed self. There’s no damn way he’s getting on that rig. The stairs are fine. He takes a breath and prepares to climb. 

 

\---

 

Getting up the stairs takes  _ forever _ . Parker has no idea what Eliot’s deal is with never using her rigs, even when they’re the most practical solution. She thinks he’s kind of like a dog, sometimes. Dogs don’t like it when their feet aren’t on the ground. 

 

Parker is more like a cat. 

 

Possibly this makes Hardison like, a bird, or a turtle. She’s not sure. Maybe a fish? Yeah, a fish. He’s really good in his own environment, but he gets all useless and floppy when he’s anywhere else. 

 

She thinks about this as they get Eliot settled into the guest bedroom. It’s weird that they even have a guest bedroom since they’re all guests in the crash pad. No one actually lives there, except for how they all kind of do. 

 

Eliot is extra grumpy the whole time, but not as grumpy as he was last time he got seriously injured, when he was healing from getting shot all those times in DC. She’d hated that he was hurt that time, because even though it’s his job, he doesn’t deserve to have to be hurt instead of her. She knows how to take pain, too. He’d been all unhappy and snappy that time by the end, and Parker knows it had something to do with how she and Hardison kissed on the train, and something to do with how well the three of them worked on their own. 

 

Sometimes Parker can feel the shape of a thing in her head, but still not have a name for it. She has to turn it over and over in her mind, figure out all the little nooks and corners like a lock she’s never seen before. She’s a lot better than she used to be at figuring these things out, because Sophie has helped her. But Sophie never seems to say anything about this shape, this thing between her and Hardison and Eliot, and how they fit together. 

 

Eliot looks really pale, sitting there in the bed all hooked up to medical things. Parker goes to find some Eliot things to place around the room. That usually helps. She raids his herb garden and finds the cowboy hat he wears sometimes and his guitar and brings those back to the guest room. 

 

“The hell?” Eliot asks. But he looks incredibly pleased, smiling the way that makes his eyes crinkle up. He only smiles like that for her and Hardison, and small kids when he’s reassuring them, which is how she knows she got it right. He fusses over where she puts the different plants until he’s happy, and then it’s an Eliot space, not just a bedroom with Eliot in it. 

 

Sophie keeps frowning at Eliot when he isn’t looking. Parker doesn’t know why. Eliot is being  _ great _ . He’s letting them take care of him, which he usually doesn’t. She thinks it’s the drugs. He’s always funny about drugs. 

 

“We’ve got to feed him,” Parker tells Hardison while Sophie and Eliot are quietly not-arguing about whether or not he would use a bell if she put one by his bedside. She doesn’t think Eliot’s eaten at all, and maybe that’s why he’s not being his usual self. He keeps rubbing at his left fingers, even though there’s nothing wrong with them. 

 

“Right...” Hardison says. They exchange a look because feeding Eliot is hard. They usually let him feed himself. 

 

“There’s chili today,” Parker suggests. 

 

“We can’t give him a bunch of beans when he’s been stabbed, woman,” Hardison says, but he kisses her cheek as he scooches past her into the kitchen so he can dig around in the freezer. Parker shrugs and follows him. She sits on the counter while he drags out batches of frozen meat and vegetables until he hits a tupperware container of chicken soup Eliot froze last time Hardison had the flu. Hardison puts it in a pot and rests against the counter while it thaws. 

 

Maybe a puffer fish, Parker thinks. Hardison outside of his element is just fine until he panics. 

 

She drums her feet against the cabinets, even though it means Eliot will complain about scuff marks later. “What kind of animal would you be?” she asks, because Hardison ought to know the answer after all. 

 

His eyes light up. “A dragon.” 

 

Parker tilts her head to the side. She can see why he’d  _ want  _ to be a dragon, but he doesn’t seem very dragon-y. “Are you sure you’re not a bird?” she tries instead. Maybe a parrot. 

 

“Why not a dragon?” Hardison pokes at the semi-melted lump of soup with a spoon. 

 

Parker has learned a lot from Sophie, so she doesn’t explain to him why he’s not a dragon. Instead she says, “Eliot would be a dog.”

 

Hardison nods. “A pitbull.”

 

She smiles. “Yeah, a pitbull.” 

 

When they get back to the room Eliot looks relieved. 

 

“It’s Eliot soup,” Parker says, a little proud. “Not from a can. And look! Oyster crackers.”  

 

“Thanks, Parker,” Eliot says wryly. He keeps glancing at Hardison, quick looks like he’s looking for reassurance. Parker can’t figure out why. He’s obviously still groggy and exhausted. Eating the soup takes forever. She watches his hand trembling a little as he brings the spoon up to his mouth, and sits on her own hands so she doesn’t try to help him. 

 

Hardison finally breaks and says, “Just give me the spoon, man. I’ve got you.” 

 

Eliot scowls at him, and Hardison backs off. But when Hardison isn’t looking Eliot almost smiles at him, soft and happy. 

 

And that is when it hits Parker. It’s like bouncing off a wall face first, and she sits there for a minute utterly stunned. 

 

_ Eliot is in love with Hardison. _

 

She stands up, not sure what she’s doing or feeling or thinking, even. The only thing she knows is that she has to leave. She needs to be up high somewhere, alone, away from everything so she can breathe. She hears Eliot and Hardison call after her, and then Sophie and Nate as she passes them in the main room before she’s out the window, up the fire escape, and on the roof. 

 

\---

 

Mostly, Parker likes Portland. It’s weird, and it likes being weird, which means she’s never too weird for the people there. There’s a guy who puts on a Darth Vader mask and plays bagpipes while riding a unicycle, and fire comes out of the bagpipes. Hardison thinks it’s hilarious. 

 

The only thing she doesn’t really like about Portland is that there aren’t many skyscrapers. Not compared to New York. Still, she goes and climbs the US Bancorp Tower with one of her newer rigs. At the top, she sits on the edge and closes her eyes and thinks. 

 

How would Sophie get her to work through this? She usually asks about feelings first, so Parker starts there. When she looks, what’s inside her is a squirming, noisy mess. She’s a pot boiling over. There’s too much. She puts her head in her hands and squeezes until it’s not the only loud thing, and she’s uncomfortable enough to be able to stop. 

 

Whew. Okay. So the Sophie approach didn’t work. 

 

She thinks about it and tries the Nate approach, because logically that’s the opposite of the Sophie approach, which is why they work together. The Nate approach is to look at all the things individually, and then look at all the possible connections, and then figure things out from there. 

 

So. She and Hardison have “pretzels”. That’s an important thing. Hardison had “pretzel”-like feelings for her for a long time, and he waited for her, and he didn’t get tired of her or too weirded out. That’s also important. He’s good, and sweet, and a little vicious, and a genius. He likes having a home -- no, he likes  _ making  _ a home. Everywhere they go, he makes a home for them. He likes having the whole team there, but he’s okay with it just being him and Eliot and her. 

 

Her head starts feeling loud again, so she carefully edges around that thought. 

 

Eliot. Eliot taught her about food. He taught her about feeling things, when she hadn’t felt things for a really long time. Eliot got stabbed --.

 

This time, she stops because thinking about Eliot lying on the ground, bleeding a lot, and not moving, makes her need to destroy things. She already tazed one of the men who hurt him, and Nate set Sterling on the other one, even though he could have just set the local police on him. Eliot survived, and he’s going to be just fine, so she has decided that the good thing to do is to let that be enough. She usually doesn’t think it is enough at the time, but a few weeks later she does, so she’s going to wait it out until she wants to hurt people less. 

 

Eliot and her, they both know what it is to want to hurt people and to do it. It means they used to be bad, but it also means they can protect people. She remembers wanting to hold him when they were down in the ice with Alan Scott’s body, partly because she was cold, but partly because it’s Eliot, and she almost always wants to be touching him. 

 

She wants to be touching Hardison most of the time, too. She’s pretty sure it’s different. Nate’s next question would be, “Okay, so what makes it different?” So Parker thinks about it. 

 

Touching has all sorts of rules: who and when, where and how, and for how long. Parker used to watch other kids crawl into the laps of grown ups and wonder how they did that, because when she tried, even though it felt like she was faking it somehow, the grown ups looked at her like she was  _ weird _ . 

 

Eventually, everyone she’s ever known has looked at her like she’s an alien. Like maybe she’s not  _ quite  _ human. She’s weird. She knows that. She’s known that for as long as she can remember. 

 

Hardison looked at her like that, but he likes that he can’t completely predict her. He likes  _ new  _ and  _ strange _ .

 

Nate is mostly amused. He’s too pragmatic to care that she’s weird, because what matters is that she works, not how she does it. Sophie cares about how she works with other people. Sophie looked at how she was missing things, like the kid-sitting-in-a-lap thing, and explains the rules to her, because Sophie studies the rules everyone else already knows so that she can bend them. 

 

Eliot thinks she’s weird. Eliot does not like her  _ because  _ she’s weird, he just likes her  _ anyway _ . Eliot likes her because of the sort of person being weird has made her be. The person who will make the hard call. The person who can step back and look at everything, rotate things until they fit like Nate said. Eliot maybe likes her best out of everyone. For her birthday, which Parker decided is in December so she gets pre-Christmas gifts, he made her crêpe suzettes because he knew she would like everything about it. They’d tasted expensive, and warm, and happy, which was how Eliot makes her feel when he smiles at her with his eyes crinkling, and calls her darling or honey. 

 

He’s smiling at Hardison just like that today. So he feels that way about Hardison. And her. And she feels the same way about Hardison, which is why she recognized it today. Hardison feels the same way back about her. 

 

The only thing she doesn’t know for sure is how Hardison feels about Eliot, but she thinks she knows that one too. Hardison is pretty easy to read, sometimes. 

 

She can’t feel her face or her fingers anymore, the wind freezing them senseless. But when she stands above the city and thinks about touching and Hardison and Eliot and crêpe suzettes, she feels like she’s lit up from inside, liquid fire and sugar. 

 

She opens her eyes and grins. 

 

\---

Today is weird. 

 

Hardison has no idea what is going on, here. Frankly, he’s already all over the place what with Eliot being  _ stabbed _ , and he’d appreciate it if the rest of the world would start making sense already. Hardison can deal with a lot, but he’s not Superman, here. Or, nah, not Superman, what he really needs to be right now is Doctor Manhattan, even though he’s a complete ass-hat and Hardison dislikes Watchmen on principle. But if he were Doctor Manhattan right now, he could be in multiple places at once, taking care of his people. 

 

Parker went out the window. Sophie keeps looking at Eliot like he’s a few nuts short of a banana split. Eliot is  _ letting  _ Hardison take care of him. 

 

Nate is drinking, and being unhelpful, so at least there’s that. He’s probably plotting something. 

 

Then the home nurse comes, and it all gets weirder. 

 

The first thing that happens is Eliot starts complaining about his wedding ring. He does have one. Hardison keeps extra wedding rings in Lucille along with drivers licences in a panel under the driver’s seat for emergencies. He’s Nate’s adopted nephew, son, and son-in-law; Sophie’s boytoy/fiancé, or personal assistant; Parker’s husband or fiancé, and Eliot’s brother-in-law or husband. The others all have similarly close identities, a complicated tangle of pretend lives that Hardison manages. Hey, Eliot takes care of his people physically, and Hardison takes care of his people legally. 

 

He’s not sure why Eliot needs a wedding ring, exactly. Hardison is still wearing his own, and he doubts the nurse will care if her patient isn’t wearing his. Still, he goes out to Lucille and sorts through the meticulously arranged sandwich baggies until he finds it. Maybe it’s the drugs. Eliot’s always hated being drugged. 

 

The next weirdness is when he grabs Eliot’s hand and slides the ring on. For a second, Eliot just looks at him, and it’s like they’re the only two people in the room. His face is all open and happy, and his fingers rub against Hardison’s like a little goodbye kiss before he pulls his hand away. 

 

Hardison blinks a few times, trying not to give anything away, like the way his heart is suddenly pounding so loud he feels Eliot can probably hear it, or how his cheeks and ears are hot. It’s probably already too late because Sophie is right there, and Hardison has known he has capital F Feelings about Eliot for awhile, okay? He’s not big on living in denial. But he can live with how things shook out, no problem. He gets Parker, and she gets him, and they both get to have Eliot right there, in their lives if not in their home. Homes. Home and creepy-ass warehouse. Whatever. 

 

When the nurse gets there, and it turns out she’s the same lady from the hospital. 

 

“Hey, I didn’t know hospital nurses made house calls,” Hardison says. 

 

Edith waves one hand. “We don’t, usually.” She digs through her kit. “I worked for On Hand Home Nursing for nearly twenty years. Started transitioning to St Vincent a year ago. But the flu going around,” she makes a little sound, like pshh. “You’d think nurses would get their kids flu shots.” She slaps a blood pressure cuff onto Eliot’s arm. 

 

Parker bounces back in, still wearing some of her rigging equipment. She’s grinning ear to ear, and she settles in between Eliot and Hardison by balancing on the arm of Hardison’s chair. Eliot reaches around her to link hands with Hardison, warm fingers tangling with his. 

 

Sophie’s mouth opens. 

 

“What, is there a party in here?” Edith asks, looking around at the whole team. “Should have warned me, I’d’ve worn  pearls.” She lays out what she needs on the bedside table: pulse monitor, stethoscope, fresh bag of saline. 

 

“Casual dress only,” Nate says, amused. 

 

Edith looks him up and down showily. He’s wearing a cable-knit sweater with nice slacks, but his hair is still uncombed, and he manages to look just barely put together. Hardison doesn’t mean to judge, but Nate’s sloppy hair always bugs him. It’s like the man’s never heard of conditioner. 

 

“I see,” Edith says. “Just as well. My velvet scrubs are at the dry cleaners anyway.” She touches each of the things she put out once, as if reassuring herself.

 

Parker cracks up. “Dry cleaners.” 

 

“Alright,” Edith says. “Everyone who isn’t family, out. Let me take care of my patient.” 

 

No one moves for a moment. Then Sophie says, “Of course. We’ll get out of your way.” She tugs Nate out of the room. 

 

Parker’s face goes stubborn, and she stays exactly where she is. Eliot hasn’t let go of his hand, so Hardison stays put. 

 

“Are they always this clingy?” Edith asks Eliot as she listens to his heartbeat. 

 

Eliot huffs a laugh. “They get all bent out of shape over a little friendly stabbing.” 

 

_ Eliot on the ground. Not moving. Blood pooling beneath him.  _

 

Hardison closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, washing the image away as he exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re funny that way, when our friend almost dies.” 

 

“Friend?” Edith says distractedly, scribbling Eliot’s vitals in a chart. “Well, I guess they do say the best marriages are to your best friend.” 

 

Dammit. 

 

“Right,” Hardison says. “Yeah. Best friend.” He smiles his most charming smile. “We were best friends for years before this scoundrel decided to confess his feelings. Swept me right off my feet.” And then because Hardison always pushes the con too far, he picks up Eliot’s hand where it’s clasped with his and kisses the back of it. 

 

Eliot looks at him sidelong, a little smirk on his lips that makes Hardison’s heart flutter. “Well when you know what you want,” he says, “You go after it.” His eyes on Hardison don’t waver. 

 

Hardison can’t breathe. 

 

“Well,” Edith says digging through her bag. “It’s good that new law passed, here. I voted for you, you know.”

 

Eliot says, “What?” and Parker says, “Duh.” 

 

Hardison realizes she means same-sex marriage being legalized in Oregon. It's all the news has talked about for the last several weeks. “We knew it would pass sooner or later.” 

 

“Let’s take your blood pressure,” Edith says. She sets out the blood pressure cuff, the pulse monitor, and the stethoscope again. She pauses a second and frowns at the bag of saline sitting out. 

 

“Oh,” she says. “Silly me.” She checks Eliot’s chart. “I already did that. Old age, I tell you.” She laughs. 

 

“Old, you?” Eliot says, because flirting is second nature to him. “You don’t look a day over thirty.” 

 

“You, mister,” Edith waggles a finger. “You’re trouble, is what you are. Have you eaten today, yet?” 

 

She asked that earlier, but Eliot doesn’t point this out. “Yes, ma’am.” 

 

“Then let’s get you to the bathroom.” 

 

“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am,” Eliot says, “My husband can help me with that.” 

 

So Hardison once again gets to help Eliot do the bathroom boogie, letting him rest his weight back against Hardison’s chest while he stands over the bowl and helping him get his pajama pants back up over his ass when he’s done. It’s intimate, and the way Eliot trusts him like this, no question, is honestly awful. Hardison has a strict ‘no pining after Eliot’ rule that he’s been following for years now, and an even stronger ‘no pining after straight boys or guys who are pretending to be straight’ rule that’s stood him in good stead for most of his life. 

 

He’s absolutely certain Eliot is the latter, but that doesn’t matter. Not even when Eliot looks into his eyes as he helps him back into bed and says, “Thank you,” quietly, eyes all crinkly with a secret smile. 

 

Parker is wearing the smirk she gets when the diamond she wants is in her reach. 

 

What the hell has gotten into these fools?

 

Nurse Edith pokes at the back of Eliot’s hand -- Eliot’s  _ other  _ hand, because he’s holding Hardison’s again with the other one. She hums in disapproval, and announces she’s going to set him up with another bag of saline solution before she leaves. 

 

Hardison sits a little closer so he can watch the IV bag be hooked up, because he and Parker always make sure Eliot’s only getting the drugs he asks for, nothing more. Edith’s absent mindedness is not making him comfortable. 

 

“It was ridiculous, you know,” Edith comments. “Not passing it sooner. What century are we in, anyway.” 

 

Eliot nods. “I was in the army for Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” he says. 

 

Edith tuts. “And now you have a handsome young man,” she says. “I do love a happy ending.” 

 

“I’m glad I got mine,” Eliot murmurs. Then he turns his head and kisses Hardison full on the lips. 

 

Hardison kisses back before he realizes what he’s doing. Then he kisses back some more because if he’s only going to get one kiss from Eliot, he’s going to make it a good one. His hand comes up to bury in Eliot’s hair, and Eliot hums softly against his lips. In the background other noises happen, but Hardison doesn’t track them. He lets the kiss stretch out longer, slow and sweet and heavy like molasses. 

 

Eliot can  _ kiss _ . 

 

When he doesn’t think he can excuse another second, Hardison pulls back. Eliot stares at his lips as he retreats, and Hardison wants to dive right back in. 

 

_ Goddamn _ . 

 

1

“My turn!” Parker announces, and she slides between them where she fits perfectly, and then Hardison is watching Eliot and Parker kiss, and it’s maybe just as amazing as kissing Eliot himself. Their kiss is more playful, a little bitey, because Parker likes to bite. 

 

Edith looks flabbergasted. 

 

Behind them, Sophie giggles. 

 

They all pull away from each other to look at her. Hardison has no damn clue what is happening, but goddamnit, Sophie better have some answers. 

 

“What’s going on?” Nate appears over her shoulder, glass of whisky in hand and a take-out menu in the other. 

 

“I think,” Sophie says, slowly, “That Eliot has amnesia from the anesthetics. Isn't that right, Eliot?” 

 

The events of the past few days click-click-click in Hardison’s head like falling dominoes. 

 

Oh. Ah, that means... 

 

_ Oh _ . 

 

Parker is the one who says, “No, it’s okay. You weren’t really wrong about anything but the timing,” to Eliot, whose face has fallen blank as fresh paper. 

 

Hardison takes a deep breath. Then he takes one of Parker’s hands and one of Eliot’s. “When she’s right, man, she’s right.” 

 

Nurse Edith says, “Oh my,” and sits down hard. 

 

Everything is quiet, the whole room holding its breath, waiting on Eliot’s answer. 

 

Eliot licks his lips. He huffs. Then he mumbles, “ _ Goddamnit _ , Hardison,” and takes Parker’s other hand. 

 

Parker whoops, and kisses him again, pulling Hardison down with her so they can trade kisses back and forth, all three of them. 

 

“Huh,” Nate says, carefully. Then he says, “Does anyone want Chinese? I’m ordering eggrolls.” 

  
  



End file.
